


Power and Influence

by benditlikekylux



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drinking, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, a little bit influenced by kill your darlings, and kylo is way too magnetic, and that's all that i've got right now, and the skulls, but not that kind of creepy, but really its a frankensteinian butchery of both, creepy professor, in which hux is way too uptight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-11 13:24:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7053499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benditlikekylux/pseuds/benditlikekylux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hux really shouldn't go.</p><p>His little desk calls to him. With a mug of tea and his Global Economics book, a highlighter and his laptop for notes. That is the smart thing to do. The logical thing to do. The <i>sensible</i> thing to do.</p><p>So, predictably, 10PM finds Hux at the door to Ben's dorm room. He's just come to the conclusion that this is a bad idea - he doesn't even have Ben's phone number, what is going on here - when Ben pulls the door open.</p><p>Hux, holding a trio of heavy books and a fist full of pens, shoulder bag laden with more, looks at Ben with some concern. He's dressed to go out.</p><p>"Ben," Hux says warningly, but the other boy puts up a hand, silencing him.</p><p>"I want to show you something."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh so very loosely inspired by Kill Your Darlings and The Skulls. Inspired in that I watched them and then wrote this thing that became vastly different than either of them, but it does bear mentioning as there are some references. Also, I've never spent much time at Columbia so apologies for butchering layouts and locations.
> 
> More importantly: this fic has AMAZING ART by [@byeojeja](http://byeojeja.tumblr.com/) over on tumblr!! Her style is so cute and her representation of our duo is fantastic. <3
> 
> also much thanks to [@werepope](http://archiveofourown.org/users/quiteparadise/pseuds/werepope) for all the last-minute beta'ing and tolerating my endless waffling. <3
> 
> i hope to finish editing the last chapter this weekend and will upload it shortly.

Brendan Hux’s schedule is a thing of beauty.

It’s neat and tidy in his planner, color coded by category first, importance second. This same schedule is replicated in his phone, colors to match; both are updated equally and consistently.

A schedule set into his phone is a necessity for someone like Hux, who values efficiency and timeliness above all else. However, a schedule exclusively in his phone raises a number of potentially dangerous possibilities: what happens if his phone is lost, or if it is damaged? What if his battery gets too low to remind him of a meeting he’s made for tomorrow first thing?

No, it is better to have a back-up plan, and it’s one that looks exceptionally successful propped open alongside him.

Econ classes are green; electives, blue. Any school-related appointments are orange, and finally, personal obligations and/or appointments are a mildly offensive yellow. Something exceptionally important also receives a red vertical slash down the left-hand side of the scheduled block, a dual-reminder for Hux to stay on track and on focus.

There’s not much room for error in the schedule and that is precisely how Hux likes it. There is only one thing better than the satisfaction of a schedule so elegantly brutal: the satisfaction of completing the term schedule with zero mistakes and four credits above the normal maximum allotment.

Ben “Call me Kylo Ren” Solo ruins it almost immediately.

It begins two days into fall semester, Hux’s first class of the day. Professor Snoke’s 9AM class is written in his schedule by its school registration numbers: B8531-001. The rest of the room, undoubtedly, calls it by its title: _Power and Influence_.

Snoke himself is something of a legend at Columbia. The conversation around campus usually involves how ruthless his course load is and how unapologetic he is about it. He has no time nor tolerance for students not fully invested in his classes. But as he walks out into the lecture hall, heading across the length of the floor to the podium on the other side of the room, Hux is struck by how very small and very.. old Snoke appears to be.

He's short of stature, even when he steps up onto the podium, and there's a feeble hunch to his spine that immediately adds years to how old he appears. It's hard to say how old he is, actually; anyone over the age of fifty tends to blur into one age-group for Hux, as is typical for anyone in their early-twenties. He's dressed in a simple suit, a faded black that implies he's worn this same suit for many many years. The only thing that looks out of place is a brown leather cuff at his left wrist, too wide to be a watch, but too narrow to be any kind of joint support. Still, he looks like someone's misplaced grandparent and it's not until Hux catches Snoke's expression that he really suspects maybe the rumors are true.

There are age lines creasing Snoke's face, deep and severe, almost like someone carved out pieces of him. His brows are heavy set and angled inward and as he scans the hall with a narrow gaze, Hux feels oddly exposed. He sits up straight in his seat, eyes on him undivided, watching as the professor lays out all his materials for the class. He holds out a stack of papers to the student in front of him, who hurries to get out of her seat to take them. She takes one for herself and passes it down the line.

The class syllabus boasts a sizable amount of reading, as well as mandatory contribution to discussions, weekly papers, and a final thesis that must be over ten pages long. Hux is thrilled by this already; not only was an itemized schedule emailed out to everyone directly, but Snoke begins to write an equally-satisfying message on the board as the hard copy is passed around, discussing its importance as he does:

_Early is on time; on time is late._

This is the precise moment when a tall, broad-shouldered student bursts into the echoing room, looking for all intents and purposes like he somehow rolled into his clothes on the way out of bed and they didn’t move at all in the walk to class. Or the run, judging by the tinge to his cheeks. His hair is long and dark and, most damningly, he only carries with him a single composition notebook and… Hux squints. Is that a pencil? A wood one? Hux has to quell the sudden instinctive urge to look around the classroom, curious if they even have sharpeners installed anymore -- this kid’s pants are definitely way too tight to be hiding one of his own. The inefficiency is well-noted.

“ _Late_ ,” Snoke emphasizes, and the student in question stands up to his full height, chest upright. He runs a hand through his greasy hair and schools his features into something he probably thinks looks pretty solemn.

Hux thinks he looks like he’s swallowed an entire package of sour lemon drops.

“Mister…?” Snoke is asking, looking altogether completely unimpressed.

"Solo, sir." The boy - for he is certainly a boy to Hux, even if "college-age" typically implies some manner of adulthood - manages to look equally unimpressed, peering around the almost-full lecture hall. He resettles back on Snoke just tin time to wipe the smirk from his face. "Ben."

“Mister Solo. Do you know what class you’re in?"

“Power and Influence, sir."

“And how do you expect to do either if you’re late to the first class?”

“Well, I suppose that depends on why I was late."

After a minute of staring him down, Snoke says finally: “Go on."

“Well,” Ben says, glancing around the room once again. To Hux, it looks like he’s surveilling the room but for what, he’s not sure. “I’ve got everyone's attention. I even managed to get you to stop class. For me.”

There’s a collective silence across the classroom and even Hux watches this go on, temporarily transfixed. It’s not often a college student calls out a professor, let alone one with the kind of reputation Snoke has. Hux avoids all the campus gossip, but even he knows of Snoke’s history of being a hard ass, of throwing students out of his class for being out of line or disruptive.

Hux waits for it, is almost excited for it, really. Instead, Snoke continues staring at Ben for another long minute. Hux thinks about his outlined schedule.

Finally, Snoke acquiesces. “At a cost."

Ben, looking altogether well-aware that he’s won something here, slides into a seat directly in front of Snoke, that same small smirk across his features. He lifts one shoulder in a seemingly-careless shrug. “Perhaps, but now I am memorable."

“Power and influence,” Snoke repeats, his eyes dismissively moving from Ben to scan over the rest of the classroom, mouth crimped tight in displeasure. “Is more than just being memorable. This class is geared to not only teach the most effective tools for leadership, but also to find which of you have those tools already."

Snoke keeps the class an additional twenty minutes to make up for the interruption. Hux scribbles the adjustment into his planner, corrects it on his phone. His scowl is a palpable thing.

***

When Hux sees him again it’s at the dining hall off Amsterdam later that night. He wavers uncertainly at the made-to-order counter, simultaneously resentful and grateful for the fact he’s waiting for his meal and can’t just storm up and call him out.

Ben Solo seems apathetic about his surroundings, wearing a long black zip-up sweatshirt with the hood drawn nearly over his eyes; if it weren’t for his identifiable nose and obvious broadness, Hux might not have noticed him. In his hands are three bags of pretzels, a water, and an apple. He’s also cut the line, Hux notices, and no one seems to be interested in giving him any flack for it. Who does this person think he is, to change routines so cavalierly? Moreover, does he really think three bags of pretzels and an apple is really dinner?

He mulls over this as he heads to a small round table. Seated already is Phasma, health and nutrition major, the only person Hux currently cares to call a friend. They met over freshman orientation two years ago, tying for first place over some leadership activity that Hux has long since forgotten the details of. Phasma hasn’t -- they still trade off months with the award in their rooms.

Phasma is blonde and forever tall, an interesting visual contrast to Hux, who shares her height but in all other ways couldn't be more different; his bicep and her wrist are likely the same circumference. She's broad, taking up much of their shared table and this privacy is precisely their preference. Phasma likes Hux because he's no-nonsense; Hux appreciates that he can disappear in his work for weeks and Phasma remains unconcerned about the state of their friendship, or Hux's health for that matter. A rare find.

“That’s him,” Hux says, gesturing toward the kid in the hoodie and dropping his tray to the table a bit too forcefully as he sits down.

Phasma politely turns to observe him, her smooth features indicating nothing. “He has poor posture."

“I was twenty minutes late,” Hux reminds her. This has been an ongoing conversation for most of the day. She has, by now, heard about the class in full, as any change to Hux’s schedule is the first subject to be discussed, good or bad.

“Bets on him being Snoke’s favourite,” Phasma is saying, and Hux swivels his gaze toward her, riling visibly. That would be typical, wouldn't it?

“Possible,” he admits at last, stealing a final glance toward Ben, now loping toward the double doors as though they’re soon to be shut. “Either that or he’ll be kicked out, and I’m not that lucky."

“I hear it’s lucky you got into the class at all.” Phasma leans forward, raising an eyebrow as she watches Hux continue to study Ben’s quickly disappearing form. “Thanisson says there’s an essay for admission."

“To prove our worth, yes.” Hux was unsurprised by this. The class is basically a lesson on how to be better than everyone else, while also controlling them. It makes sense Snoke would only want the most deserving for it. There was no doubt in Hux’s mind he would get chosen; he has an impeccable GPA and attendance record, hands in all assignments on time, and actually enjoys discussing the driest of legal jargon. What he may lack in personality he makes up for with knowledge, timeliness, and efficiency. “I wrote about Antonio Gramsci and his use of subversion in his theory of cultural hegemony."

Phasma is staring at him in silence; it takes Hux almost a full minute to notice. He scowls at her. “What?"

She holds the stare for a moment longer before looking down at her dinner plate, raising an eyebrow as she spears a vegetable. “Christ. I guess it wasn’t luck after all.”

***

Two weeks into classes, Hux waits amongst a cluster of students outside the door to Snoke's room, still full of his previous class. The clock on his phone is an oblivious tormentor, and he checks it in little obsessive tics of his gaze, watching the window between this class shrink by seconds and then minutes.

When the chatter of the students around him sharpen and pitch conspiratorially low, he's almost glad for the distraction.

"One year a student died," someone says, and a dozen set of ears perk up. Hux tries to rewind the conversation, but he remembers it only as background noise, and so tilts his head subtly to try and catch something approaching context.

"My older brother went to Columbia a few years back. He says that the only way to Snoke's society is through P n' I."

At the term "society" Hux makes an attempt to weed out the speaker. A tall, narrow boy. Thomas Thanisson, Hux remembers dimly, one of Phasma's friends. They've exchanged few words over the years.

"Did he get in?" That's another voice, a girl, looking a bit too mousy to benefit from anything involving power and influence, but hey. Maybe her looks are part of the ploy.

"No. He swears his friend did though."

“Well I heard you get an invitation in the mailroom,” says someone else, blocked by Hux’s immediate line of sight; he’s not interested enough to lean to see who.

“No way. No paper trail. It’s a spoken invitation.” Thanisson again, clearly amassing a small posse for all his so-called knowledge.

“How do you know?"

“I just do."

"Did you get one?” It’s the girl again; Maggie, Millie, something. Hux can’t recall. The classroom has emptied around them but no one seems interested in getting into the room on time now, Hux included for once.

“No. But if I did then I wouldn’t tell you anyway.”

“You totally did! Oh my god."

“I didn’t say that!” Thanisson looks insistent, a bit panicked, like he’s either said too much or perhaps his ego has gotten the better of him.

“What did you do? What was your essay about last week?” The group is chittering with excitement and even Hux, by now, has stopped pretending he’s looking at his phone. It’s not hard to parse together what they’re talking about, though the details are muddy at best.

“It was about -"

“That’s not how it works.” This is a new voice, from the other side of the hall, and almost as one the crowd turns to look to the left, at the dark-haired buffoon that disrupted class last week. His arms are crossed and he looks irritated by everything - the crowd in front of the door, the conversation, the very existence of others. He storms toward the door, correctly anticipating the sea of students parting to let him pass. Hux doesn’t move but as he’s also not in the way, the gesture loses some impact.

The chitter starts up again as soon as the boy is past them, speculation and rumors, this time with Ben Solo at the center of them. Thanisson seems put out. Hux ignores it to follow Ben.

“Wait up.” Hux reaches to tap a shoulder significantly broader than his own. It's a petty satisfaction that he now knows they're almost of a height, at least.

Ben spins around before Hux’s finger touches down. He gives Hux a brief once-over and, not entirely displeased, says: “Antonio Gramsci?”

“What?” Hux falters, still thinking about the conversation outside the hall.

“Your entry paper."

“Oh.” Hux’s brow furrows inward, processing. “Well. Yes. How did you…?"

“I read everyone’s.”

“How?” Hux’s eyes narrow, following Ben toward the stadium seats. “Why?”

Ben slides into a seat in the front. Hux hesitates for just a moment before doing the same, sitting alongside him and glaring openly now.

“ _Why?_ "

“It was a good paper,” Ben says, ignoring Hux’s question. “I personally find subversion fascinating. Highly effective when properly applied."

Hux does his best not to look exasperated, though he can feel his cheeks sting with the flush of blood to them. "Are you being obtuse on purpose?"

Snoke interrupts: "Hello class, let's begin."

Ben glances at Hux out of the corner of his eye, smirking. Hux fumes.

It turns out sitting alongside Ben Solo isn't necessarily one of Hux's greatest ideas, but it could be considerably worse. Ben's goal for this class seems to focus primarily on Professor Snoke's attention; seated almost directly in front of them, both he and Hux receive that. Hux answers questions when prompted, lifting his pen to the air to add input. He takes notes studiously and, accidentally, caught Snoke's stare on him numerous times throughout the lecture.

Ben Solo, it seems, is interested in applying all the opposite behaviors. He has the same composition notebook from before, but it's not open, and there's no pencil in sight this time. He has little care for the flow of the class, as far as Hux is concerned; zero interest in class structure, teacher-driven lectures, readings. Instead, Ben opts to interject as he feels like it; it is perhaps the most startling for Hux that Snoke seems not only to allow it, but encourage it. Whenever Ben speaks out, Hux swears he can read amusement behind the typical tight-lipped look of contempt.

Still, despite ending the class ready to hit Ben over the head with his own composition notebook, Hux considers the class an immediate success when, while packing up his supplies, Professor Snoke leans over the podium to say:

"Good work today, Mister Hux. I look forward to your report."

***

Power and Influence meets three times a week, although they're only a few weeks in when the third time slot is designated for group work. He looks forward to the discourse, even with a class like this - one that is open to multiple majors, even the General Studies kids. The reading has been interesting and for the most part, the class discussions lively. Hux has high hopes about his small group.

They're dashed when he walks into his appointed Thursday meeting slot at Lerner Hall, five PM sharp, and there he is, at a table with three other students who are clearly invested in whatever it is he's saying. Ben is slumped into one chair, feet propped up on another, the same ratty notebook on the table in front of him. The pencil is nowhere in sight. His hair has fallen over half his face, though it moves in and out of his line of sight as he gestures to another student, clearly engaged in the discussion despite his lazy appearance. Hux wonders if that means Ben has some actual investment in the class and is not just out to disrupt it, until he gets a bit closer.

"It's all about concentration. Mind over body," he's saying, and the boy sitting next to him - slight, short dark hair, expression a bit like a lost puppy - is nodding along wide-eyed and eager.

"That's what Professor Snoke says, but there's -" The boy cuts himself off when he sees Ben's attention has been diverted to Hux. "…more to it than that."

Hux takes a seat beside the shorter boy, looking around the small space at each student in turn. The way his gaze skips over Ben to the boy with the wide doe eyes must be obviously intentional. "I'm Hux."

“I’m Mitaka,” the other boy offers helpfully, even holding out a hand. “Well actually. It’s Dopheld really, but everyone calls me Mitaka. That’s my last name - ”

“Right.” Hux cuts him off, ignoring the hand; he has no interest in learning more about anyone’s personal life or the no-doubt fascinating way in which it's influenced their choice of major. He puts his bag in his lap and begins unpacking his books as the rest of the circle introduce themselves: Thomas Thanisson (what are the odds, really), Pip Kaplan, Kate Unamo.

Ben Solo looks at the books upending out of Hux’s deceptively spacious bag, slow to make eye contact. When he does, he holds Hux’s gaze, seems to burrow into him. “Hux.”

"Ben," Hux responds shortly. He doesn't shift under the stare, simply holds it for a moment before turning his attention to his bag, pulling out the printout for today's topic as well as yesterday's assignment, bubbles neatly circled. "So. Influence style and tactics. Did everyone fill out the questionnaire?"

Kate opens her folder, retrieving her own papers; Mitaka, Pip, and Thomas follow suit. The questionnaire is two pages with statements which each student had to use to assess their own personalities, based on a rating of 0 to 4 points, 4 being the most true. The statements were divided into two categories, columns A and B, indicating 2 opposite influencing styles.

Despite what Hux considers an oversimplification of styles, he was very pleased with his results and arrived to this session eager to discuss it with his assigned classmates. Therefore, he gives Ben about thirty seconds before he fights a sigh. "Where's yours?"

"I already know my influencing style."

"I see. What about the part of our assignment where we have to discuss our results in relation to those in our group?"

"Still possible." Ben's eyes meet Hux's once more, and Hux is immediately angered by the humor there.

"Right. Well. What were everyone's scores?" At this, Hux gives Ben a pointed look. "I got 29/68."

"58/26," Mitaka says, looking uncertainly around the room, as though he needs confirmation that his score doesn't immediately mean a problem. The others answer - Kate is almost even, at a 39/42, Thanisson closer to Mitaka's and Pip's almost the same, just reversed.

Ben leans forward, palms on the table. "The questionnaire doesn't tell us anything we don't already know. Hux, Pip, you two and I are the same. We're directive and persuasive. Thomas and Mitaka are collaborative."

"And me?" Kate looks amused by Ben more than anything else.

"Your scores are kind of contradictory," Ben says finally, shrugging. "Intriguing really."

The conversation shifts to the varying pair of styles, Hux and Ben's PUSH style versus Thomas and Mitaka's PULL. There are beneficial times for both, an opinion that is argued between the six of them for the duration of the hour. At the end, Hux has a considerable amount of notes for his assessment paper, but he's not entirely pleased about it.

He waits for the other students to leave, catching Ben's bicep when he makes to leave as well. Hux is not letting this go. "I know what you're doing."

Ben turns a bit too quickly, crowding closer to Hux than anticipated. Hux takes a half a step back, his eyes flashing in anger when he realizes it. Ben just smiles, a bit cold but mostly too knowing. "What am I doing?"

"You're positioning yourself to take over the group."

"I don't need to do that. I am the leader already." Hux fights an eye roll, and Ben crowds closer, leaning toward Hux like there's a secret to be shared. This time, Hux stands his ground, until they're mere inches away. He can see Ben inhale before he speaks. "Don't you know why we're here? Why Snoke chose us?"

Hux's eyes flash angrily. "Obviously I know why _I'm_ here. _You're_ an enigma."

Ben ignores this and presses forward, both in conversation as well as his lean, staring at Hux intensely. "I mean the point of this class."

"Learning leadership techniques and strategies." Hux does his best not to look uncomfortable with the proximity and manages somewhat; internally, there's more of a struggle. Ben is close enough that Hux can smell whatever shampoo he uses. Maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration, but not by much. Either way, he attempts to mask his mounting discomfort by turning abruptly toward the table, shoulder brushing against the front of Ben's jacket. He props his bag open on a chair and starts to pack it up.

"No," Ben says, automatic and dismissive.

"Yes," Hux corrects, hearing the exasperation in his tone and hating it. "Some of us take classes to _learn_."

"Not this class and not you."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"We're in this class to _succeed_. It's not the same thing."

Again, Hux fights the need to roll his eyes, resisting only barely. "Enlighten me. What is it we need to succeed at if not a passing grade?"

"You're marked. Snoke won't pass you if you're only following the lessons," Ben says and if he sounds patient it's entirely contradicted by the flare in his eyes. Hux dimly wonders how many hours of the day Ben must spend glaring to have perfected such a look. Even Hux has to admit it's pretty good. "We have to apply them. That's what this is."

"There you go being cryptic again."

"Hux!" Ben returns to Hux's line of vision, dropping his hands to the table to look under and up at Hux, who's hunched over a little as he tries to wrangle his books into the bag. "What do you think this group is actually about?"

Hux looks up at Ben, fighting irritation - at the conversation, at Ben fucking Solo, at the likelihood he's going to be late to dinner with Phasma, the inability to fit everything into his bag despite arriving with it all there, all of it. "It's a fucking study group, Ben."

"No!" Ben says, with enough vehemence for Hux to question whether Ben Solo is clinically troubled. "It's a competition."

"A what."

"A competition." Ben glances around the room, his gaze ending on Hux. "Our group versus the others. A psychological experiment."

"The students are part of the lessons?" Against his better judgement Hux is interested, starting to pick up on the round-about way Ben seems to think information and conversations should be shared. Even if it does make his head ache. "How do you figure?"

"Remember that first class, when I was late? Snoke had me stay after, went on about initiative and knowing the right moment to use it. He said I have initiative but not the timing. He said the most important lessons from this class is the application of them. Then he told me to take a week to pick four students for a group."

Hux closes his eyes, pressing a finger to one of his temples. He opens his eyes, suddenly putting everything together. "That's why you read my paper."

Ben seems pleased. "Antonio Gramsci. Interesting theorist."

"Is that why you picked me?" Hux demands.

"The strongest group is made up of different strengths. You have timing but lack initiative."

"Is that so." Hux raises an eyebrow minutely, filing that away as an argument for later on. He's still angry at the nerve of this entire conversation. "So what's Mitaka bringing to the table?"

Ben smiles, a bit mysterious. "Obedience."

Ridiculous. Hux channels the frustration from this conversation into willfully forcing his books in their place; bag repacked, Hux begins walking toward the exit, assuming Ben will follow. If he leaves now he'll only be about five minutes late to dinner at the dining hall with Phasma. He's curious what she'll have to say about this development.

"So say you're right," Hux says, once Ben has dropped into stride alongside him. "He's pitting the groups against one another. What's his end game? Top marks?"

Ben shakes his head, looking exasperated again. "Stop thinking so small. This is beyond grades, Hux. This is our future."

Hux stares at him for a moment before he begins to laugh. "I can't believe you just said that seriously."

 _am_ serious." Ben stops walking, forcing Hux to stop as well. He silently continues looking at Hux until the laughter fades from his throat. "What are you doing tonight?"

"I have dinner plans. At the hall."

Ben waves a hand in irritation. "Fine, after?"

"Ben, you do realize we're in school, right? Homework, papers, studying?"

He's already walking ahead of Hux, like he knows if he leaves soon enough Hux won't have time to turn him down. "Yes, yes, bring it to my dorm. I'm in Whittier."

By the time Hux gets to the dining hall - ten minutes late - he's worked himself into a snit, almost too riled to eat. He complains about the class, about his study group; mostly he complains about Ben Solo, and whatever the hell he's accidentally agreed to when he said he would meet him tonight.

In return Phasma gives him her most knowing, most infuriating smirk and tells him to go. She also tells him to text him tomorrow with all the details. When she goes, she leaves her sugared lemon bar for him, possibly just so that he'll owe her something in the future.

Even in the face of Phasma's calm certainty, Hux contemplates not going. He has no real obligation to. For all the insider knowledge Ben claims to have, he's not a TA or even a student assistant. He has no control over Hux's grade, which should be Hux's priority.

Licking sugar from the tips of his pointer finger and thumb, Hux stares at his phone, at the neatly organized list of his schedule tomorrow. It starts at 8AM and goes through well past dinner; Fridays are Hux's days to catch up on what wasn't completed over the week.

He really shouldn't go.

His little desk calls to him. With a mug of tea and his Global Economics book, a highlighter and his laptop for notes. That is the smart thing to do. The logical thing to do. The _sensible_ thing to do.

So, predictably, 10PM finds Hux at the door to Ben's dorm room. He's just come to the conclusion that this is a bad idea - he doesn't even have Ben's phone number, what is going on here - when Ben pulls the door open.

Hux, holding a trio of heavy books and a fist full of pens, shoulder bag laden with more, looks at Ben with some concern. He's dressed to go out.

"Ben," Hux says warningly, but the other boy puts up a hand, silencing him.

"I want to show you something."

"What happened to 'bring your homework, Hux?' And your studying and your essays? My laptop is in my bag," he says accusingly, and as Ben's smile grows, he snaps out: " _What?_ "

"Your face gets red when you're angry. Right here - and here -" Ben attempts to point at a pair of spots high on Hux's cheeks, just under his eyes, but Hux ducks away.

"Right. I'm leaving."

"No, wait -" Ben jumps around Hux, effectively blocking him from continuing down the hallway. He holds his hands out in the gesture of truce, elbows locked and fingers splayed in front of him. Hux doesn't believe it for a second. "Seriously. I promise it's worth it. Just leave your stuff here."

 _How did this happen_ , Hux wonders. He should be at home, with his essay that's due next week - well, the week after - and his sharply organized schedule. There is no room in his schedule for "canoodling with Ben Solo."

For the second time that night, Hux relents; he stacks his books in Ben's en suite, laying his bag alongside the pile. He keeps his phone and his wallet because really, he has no idea what to expect but the only thing worse than being stranded in the middle of nowhere with Ben Solo would be being stuck in the middle of nowhere with Ben Solo and no way of contacting emergency services when this blows up in his face.

He puts his phone and his wallet in a pocket each and then puts his hands on his hips, surveying Ben with clear disapproval. "Fine."

Ben's expression lights up temporarily. He loops an arm through one of Hux's elbows and ushers them out of the room. Hux disentangles himself promptly, feeling his cheeks redden. Ben doesn't notice; he's locking the door, walking immediately down the hall with the assumption Hux will follow.

With a sigh, Hux does, hating himself more with every step.

"Where are we going?" He demands, when the hallway has ended and they're waiting for the elevator.

"You'll see."

"I don't like surprises."

"You'll like this one."

"How can you be sure?"

Ben backs into the elevator, facing Hux. With a small, crooked grin, he holds out his hand. "Trust me."

Hux stares at Ben's outstretched hand long enough for the elevator doors to begin closing. When Ben makes no move to stop them, Hux heaves a visible sigh and steps through the doors before they close, taking Ben's hand.

***

The nighttime sky is made darker by the rain falling down but the long line of columns is still visible to Hux, who stares up at them with sullen disapproval: "No."

He's speaking to dead air; Ben has already disappeared around the side of the building, leaving Hux with two foolhardy options: remain standing outside in the rain, or follow Ben into what is undoubtedly breaking rules.

A crack of thunder settles Hux's resolve. Resigned to his future expulsion, he picks up a jog to catch up to Ben around the side of the building. He's huddled under a small overhang in front of the side entrance, fiddling with the doorknob.

"Are you breaking us into Butler library?" Hux demands, incredulous.

"No," Ben says, his voice slightly muffled where he's ducked around the doorknob. The door opens shortly afterward, and he looks over his shoulder at Hux with a grin. He holds out a keychain, a small key catching the streetlight just enough to be identified. "I have a key."

Hux is actively against rule-breaking. Not only is it usually illegal, it also compromises everything he's spent most of his life building toward. All the extra AP classes in high school. The after school clubs that consumed what should have been his social life. Columbia itself, a college that prides itself on hard-working students that don't party like other ivy leagues.

Hux is actively against rule-breaking but he's not wearing clothes suited to the rain. He ducks past a smug Ben Solo into the small hallway and, dripping, immediately about-faces to glare at Ben. It's not as successful with his hair dripping down his cheeks and off the tip of his nose.

"How did you get a key to Butler?"

"I copied it a couple weeks ago." Ben smiles that cryptic, too-knowing smile. He offers his hand out once more. "Come on."

It's dark but for the security lights, and Hux uses that as the excuse for accepting Ben's hand for the second time that night. Ben uses the flashlight on his phone to light the way, tugging Hux along.

"Are you going to tell me why we're in the library after-hours?"

"I want to show you something."

"Why can't you show me when the library is open?"

"It's in the Archives and not approved for students," Ben says simply, leading them up the stairs.

The Archives are on the sixth floor. Hux has never been to them; he's had no real need or interest to research the history of Columbia University, let alone the time. Students don't need special permission to enter the archives but there are a lot of old documents not yet available digitally, and for those documents appointments must be made, as only trained archivists can handle them.

"Can't you make an appointment?"

"Doesn't matter. They're restricted." Ben glances over his shoulder at Hux, who's climbing the stairs just a step behind him.

Six flights of stairs is a lot to climb, especially in the dark. Especially in clothes that are damp with rainwater and not really suited for much more than studying and essay writing. If he'd known there would be physical activity on the schedule tonight, he'd have at least worn trainers.

"If they're restricted, how do you know they're there?" They're on the fifth floor now and Hux is definitely feeling it. His breath is short and his words truncated, lacking enough air to both speak and step.

Ben, however, seems untouched. He pulls at Hux's hand when Hux lags behind more than a couple of steps, but if his actions are encouraging, his responses are exactly the opposite: "I've already seen them."

Hux stops short on the landing mid-way between the fifth and sixth floors. His voice is flat, disbelieving. "You've already been here."

"Yes." Ben is impatient, pulling on Hux's hand.

"And why didn't you take a photo?"

"I wasn't planning on coming back or showing anyone else," Ben says, irritation coloring his tone. "Come on."

Hux reluctantly allows Ben to practically drag him up the stairs and onto the sixth floor. The archives take up half the floor, and there's a small hallway leading to the entrance. Ben has a key for this as well, which he releases Hux's hand to retrieve. At the inner door, Hux finally stops questioning his methods as he trails along after him, down the long rows of waist-high flat files and taller cabinetry, each individually categorized and labeled. Even if Ben hadn't told him he'd been here before, Hux would suspect it now, as Ben doesn't even look at the labels as he navigates the narrow pathways, until they're standing in front of another door, labeled "Employee Access Only."

Hux is full of so many questions, but each time he opens his mouth Ben puts a hand out to shush him, leaving Hux to scowl at the back of Ben's head while he fiddles with the key. Soon Hux realizes why it requires more effort: this room has a number pad on the door lock, which means that Ben couldn't just get a copy of a key secretly made. He had to figure out the actual code to the door.

Hux shifts to stand near the doorframe where he can stare at Ben's profile and actually be seen. He demands: "Who gave you the code into the room?"

"No one," Ben says, keying the numbers in and exhaling an audible sigh when there's a soft click, and the door unlocks. He glances over at Hux, and in the dim light of his cell phone, he looks crazed. "I watched until some librarian keyed it in. Come on."

The room is cooler than the other. Noticing a lack of windows, Hux supposes it must be on its own temperature controlled system to minimize damage to the artifacts here. Ben inadvertently verifies this when he flips the lights on and they are pretty dim and faded. Clearly, whatever is kept in here doesn't react well to exposure.

Again, Ben makes his way through the room like he's been here a dozen times. Again, he assumes Hux will just follow along and Hux is irritated to find that he does, without comment or request from Ben.

"We're here. Are you going to tell me what this is about?"

"My grandfather went to this school," Ben says, as he pulls out a flat file drawer, careful and quiet. Hux catches up to Ben, standing just off to the side so as not to get in the way of the drawer. "Before my mom was born. She doesn't talk about him much. He wasn't a nice person."

Hux watches Ben carefully shift through the folders in the drawer. They're labelled but the labeling isn't as neat and tidy as it was outside in the Archives room. It's old, dated; some of it from different years and different records-keeping processes. Hux would not want to be in charge of organizing any of this.

"My father went here too," he says finally, watching as Ben pulls out an old folder. There are some smudges and marks along the manila and the edges are fuzzy with wear, but it's still in one piece.

"I know," Ben says as he opens the folder. He sifts though a number of papers and small photos until he finds a big photo, full page spread, of about a dozen or so students lined up on the steps to Low Library, dressed in suits and wearing little military hats. Ben slides this over for Hux's view, pointing at the list of names hand written along the bottom.

"There's my grandfather," Ben says, pointing at an older man in the corner of the group. The photo is preserved well enough but it's not a good quality; Ben's grandfather is partially obscured by a black shadow over most of his face and body, perhaps from a statue or something similar.

Hux is about to ask what the group is when Ben shifts his finger, pointing toward a student on the other side of the group, standing tall and proud and facing the camera with the same precision Hux grew up idolizing.

"And that's your father," Ben says, before Hux can voice it himself.

Hux leans down, squinting at the small man in the photo, trying to find the man he knows to be his father in the blurry photo of a boy barely out of childhood. Brendon Hux Sr doesn't talk about his past, not without needing a reason, like a lesson to be learned. Hux knew he went to Columbia just like he knew his father was pleased he was accepted there, but Hux didn't know much else beyond that. Transparency wasn't a trait prioritized by the Hux household.

As he inspects the photo, Hux realizes that all of the boys are wearing the same outfit, Ben's grandfather as well. Without straightening, he glances over at Ben, who's watching him attentively. "What is this?"

"It's a society my grandfather helped start, called the Empire," Ben says and Hux is immediately aware of his tone because it's unusual for Ben to sound careful of his words. "It was shut down pretty soon after this photo."

"Why?" Hux begins sifting through the rest of the documents, most of which are labeled with a circular, gear-like icon on the corner. It looks kind of familiar, in the way that Hux is unsure whether he's seen it before or if his mind wants to make some kind of connection between this "society" and the man who raised him.

"I'm not sure. But your father was a part of it." Ben shrugs, then puts the photo at the top of the pile once more, right in Hux's line of vision. "Look at the names though."

Hux complies, squinting at the hand-written scrawl on the bottom of the photo. After a minute, he snaps his head up, looking at Ben, startled. "Professor Snoke?"

"From what I can gather, the Empire was a group of professors, my grandfather included, who inducted students into their society based on a few key traits. I've researched all of these names here - Tarkin, Rancit, Teller - They're all in pretty important positions right now. Your father is Commandant now, right?"

"After Columbia he joined the military," Hux says, thinking about what Ben has been saying. He looks down at the photo in a new light, trying to imagine what it must have been like, to be part of something like this society. Did they know, then, how it would turn out? Did Hux's father envision himself in charge of the Army? The faces in the photo have no answers for him, just more questions. "He was a General most of my life. Got four stars and now he's Commandant."

"My grandfather ran Wall Street. My mother likes to tell me he manipulated his way up there, and politicians suffered for it."

"Did they?"

"It's conjecture," Ben says, with a shrug.

Hux gets the feeling there's more to the story than Ben is letting on. Ben is cryptic and clearly enjoys his secrets, but he also clearly enjoys letting people know he has them. He seems more uncertain now, not as eager to meet Hux's eyes, to get close enough for them to practically touch as he tries to convince Hux to agree with him.

"So why is this restricted?"

"I think something really big happened here, with my grandfather, and the society was discovered. I think Columbia tried to keep it under wraps. There's nothing about the Empire in any of the other records." Ben does lean forward now, eyes bright and intense as he stares at Hux. "I think our Professor has started a similar society. I think that's what everyone's whispering about. I think he restarted the Empire without telling anyone."

"If that's the case, why would we want to be a part of it? All this secrecy, for what?"

There's a gleam in Ben's eye as he stares at Hux that makes him want to squirm. He fights it, meeting the look with his own level stare as Ben says: "Power, of course."

Something about that feels right with Hux, whether he's eager to admit it to Ben or not. There is a clearcut trajectory for his future and it does not include answering to others; it's why he signed up for Professor Snoke's class to begin with. But staring down at these papers under the soft, dim light, Hux is filled with a sudden, inexplicable concern.

It's immediately distracted by Ben, who leans against Hux as he reaches across him for another photo. This one is of a number of men that Hux doesn't recognize. It looks older than the photo with his father. Ben's voice is quieter now, more thoughtful. "I think that this society has always been here, in some form. I think it's bigger than Columbia, bigger than I thought really. Maybe all the ivys have it."

"Did you know about this before you came to Columbia?"

"My grandfather had a couple of items with this symbol on it." Ben points to the circular logo. "An old watch I inherited, and a mask. I couldn't trace it back here, but my mother was adamantly against me attending Columbia, so it seemed like a good theory."

"Why didn't she want you to come here?"

"Her and her father didn't get along."

"Oh." Hux tries to think about this and not how close Ben is pressed against him, unnecessarily really - there's a whole table to spread this folder out on - when there's a noise, muffled but clearly not from either of them.

They exchange looks and immediately start to pack up the folder. Hux can't help but ask, voice hushed and urgent: "You didn't mention security."

"There weren't any last time," Ben counters, trying to slide the metal drawer back into place without causing too much noise. It's hard, metal on metal isn't made for secrecy, and the pair of them cringe with each shrill clang.

Both of them hear the door open and the tell-tale step of heavy boots into the room. Hux is immediately thankful for the tall rise of shelves separating them from the entrance and exit from this room. Ben uses this to their advantage, guiding the pair of them down an empty aisle toward the door, which is slowly inching shut.

Hux reaches out, grabbing the hem of Ben's shirt as he starts to go too fast, but he's only crouching, reaching out to catch the door before it closes fully, his fingertips holding it in place just a foot or so above the ground. From this angle the guard isn't visible, easily identified by the reflection of the flashlight against the ceiling. Ben glances back at Hux, who nods, moving his free hand with the universal gesture of "hurry the fuck up" and Ben inches the door back open.

The pair of them hurry through, hunched over their knees, and Ben lingers just long enough to allow the door to shut quietly. The first few steps away from the room are cautious, but when neither of them see any flashlights the caution disappears in favor of a full on run.

Hux reaches the Archives door first, and he stops short.

"Keep going," Ben hisses, pushing at him in irritation.

Spinning, Hux clamps an urgent hand over Ben's mouth and he points out the small window, where a flashlight's glow can be seen slowly disappearing. Ben quiets as the pair of them watch the light disappear, occasionally glancing behind them to see if the other guard has left the restricted area. Hux releases his mouth but keeps his hand just below his shoulder, gripping it tightly. He can feel Ben's heart racing as fast as his own, and it is not at all comforting.

Hux opens the door slowly, creeping out into the hall. Ben follows, grabbing at Hux's sleeve to keep from walking into him, and the pair of them move this way, slow and steady toward the elevator. Hux keeps a hand on the wall to guide them, focusing on the soft glow from the red emergency exit sign above the stairwell door.

The door opens with a loud creak, and the pair of them are hit with a sudden white glow.

"Hey, you there!" a guard yells, and Ben pushes Hux into the stairwell, yelling for him to run.

Jumping down the stairs by twos and threes, neither of them bother to keep quiet. They've already been spotted and if there are any other guards in the library, they're sure to be caught. Hux hopes they're all miraculously on the sixth floor or that there are multiple stairwells, expecting a guard to pop out at each landing they hit, until it's the first floor and Ben has him by the sleeve still, tugging him toward the exit door with increased fervor.

"Come on, come on, come _on_ ," he urges, and they both wretch the door open, escaping into the night sky, and the rain, with little fanfare.

Ben continues running, continues dragging Hux by the sleeve, until they're on a main walkway with other students milling about. He slows to a normal pace, keeping Hux by his side.

He keeps glancing behind them, until Hux throws an arm over his shoulders, effectively preventing his head from turning. "Stop that, it's way too obvious."

"Are they there? Did you see them?"

"I don't think so," Hux says, listening for any kind of yelling over the pelting of the rain. "Do you think they recognized us?"

"All the students in this university and we're gonna stand out that much?" Ben scoffs, the euphoria of escape starting to sink in. He grins over at Hux, maniacal, a bubble of laughter escaping.

For once, Hux's expression matches Ben's, a crazed grin that is far too pleased for someone who just compromised everything they've planned toward. "That was insane."

"Fucking _amazing_ is what you mean," Ben corrects, knocking his head against Hux's.

Hux laughs, breathless, a release of pent-up energy and adrenaline more than actual amusement. "You almost got me expelled."

"Plural," Ben corrects. " _We_ almost got _us_ expelled. But we didn't. It was worth it though, wasn't it?"

Hux thinks about his father, stoic and uninviting. He thinks about his mother, eager to keep house, with her own kind of quiet strength, never testing his father in public, never questioning him in front of Hux. There is no way either of them would have said anything about the Commandant's past, whether it's something to be proud of or not.

"Not if we'd been caught," he says finally, but the bite isn't there. He looks at his phone and sighs at the time. "I still have a paper to write."

"Do it tomorrow."

"It'll throw off my schedule." Hux pauses, then gives Ben a narrow look. Too close. He's too close, but Hux holds the look. " _You_ threw off my schedule."

"You're going to have to start scheduling me in, General."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux really shouldn't go.
> 
> His little desk calls to him. With a mug of tea and his Global Economics book, a highlighter and his laptop for notes. That is the smart thing to do. The logical thing to do. The _sensible_ thing to do.
> 
> So, predictably, 10PM finds Hux at the door to Ben's dorm room. He's just come to the conclusion that this is a bad idea - he doesn't even have Ben's phone number, what is going on here - when Ben pulls the door open.
> 
> Hux, holding a trio of heavy books and a fist full of pens, shoulder bag laden with more, looks at Ben with some concern. He's dressed to go out.
> 
> "Ben," Hux says warningly, but the other boy puts up a hand, silencing him.
> 
> "I want to show you something."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Hux questions his life choices and Ben finds a project for the group. Among other things.
> 
> More importantly: this fic has AMAZING ART by [@byeojeja](http://byeojeja.tumblr.com/) over on tumblr!! Her style is so cute and her representation of our duo is fantastic. <3
> 
> also much thanks to [@werepope](http://archiveofourown.org/users/quiteparadise/pseuds/werepope) for all the last-minute beta'ing and tolerating my endless waffling. <3
> 
> i hope to finish editing the last chapter this weekend and will upload it shortly.

Looking back, Hux will be able to clearly pinpoint October as the significant turning point in his life - for his mental health as well as his academic career. He's not this observant in the moment though, the realization only hitting him when he looks at his schedule and realizes how royally fucked it's become, thanks mostly to one individual in particular.

Ben is right that Hux needs to start scheduling in time with him as he does with Phasma. Thursday study sessions quickly become Thursday evenings into Friday mornings, with Hux arriving to his 8AM class wondering if perhaps he's still drunk, or high, or maybe both. It's an easy class, but even he realizes how shockingly cavalier he's become about the whole process in just a few short weeks.

By mid-October, weekends have become something of a disaster for Hux. Before, Hux's weekend was structured much like his week days; he made time for homework due the following week as well as papers with longer due dates. The weekend was his time for the library, for personal obligations such as laundry, grocery shopping, and cleaning his dorm room (all of which appear in their appropriate color in his planner, of course).

If Hux were to adjust his planner for the current weekend, it would be all the same color, and say all the same thing: Ben Solo.

Of course, he can't adjust his planner accordingly, because Ben Solo seems utterly incapable of anything involving future planning. Part of this is on Hux himself and he knows it. He has developed an unfortunate and highly unusual ability to say no to Ben. He has this way about him that's unique and appealing, enticing Hux to give into those innermost thoughts, the ones that stroke his ego and tell him he's above all this school shit. That he should already in be in charge. It's a heady feeling, and Hux feels better when Ben is around now, to reinforce it.

There's no use avoiding it, at this point. Hux is at dinner with Phasma when the texting starts, a flurry of vibrations - Hux's phone volume is never on - audible even from inside Hux's leather bag. Each noise makes Hux twitch in growing irritation and Phasma watches this deterioration with obvious amusement

She finally acquiesces. "Just get it over with."

Relieved, Hux unlocks his phone to find over a dozen unseen texts, all from what was once started as Power and Influence's study session message thread. Titled "The Knights of Influence" on all of their phones, it's since become more like Ben's tool for power and influence over his group partners, but no one seems interested in doing much about it.

"It's Ben," Hux explains, and Phasma doesn't bother hiding her eye roll. Hux feels the need to elaborate, a defensive gesture which he finds unbecoming in everyone, himself especially. "There's a semester mid-term coming up and -"

"Say no more." Phasma starts to crumple her trash up, smirking. Hux misses the smirk, typing a reply into the chat box.

After a moment, the phone vibrates once more, and Hux raises an eyebrow at Phasma. "….Do you want to come? Thanisson's going to be there."

A few hours later finds the entirety of the group, Phasma included, in Ben's dorm en suite, all crowded close to the bathroom, Ben actually in the tub, smoking out the room, imagining what it would be like if everything were upside-down and screwed to the ceiling.

Hux is leaning against the bathtub with his Microeconomics book propped on his knees, trying to make out the words clearly enough to highlight properly. Alongside him is Phasma, who keeps unintentionally jostling him with her shoulder as she engages Mitaka in conversation.

"It's inefficient," she's saying, one of Phasma's favourite sentiments.

It used to be one of Hux's, he dimly remembers, but it would be disingenuous to use it now. There is nothing efficient about trying to study when he can't keep his place on the page because of Phasma's shoulder knocking into him every few seconds.

A hand appears out of nowhere, snatching the book from his lap and sending it flying. Hux watches its departure almost in slow motion, the book skidding neatly under the sink vanity.

"Stop that," Ben says, chin against the bathtub, cheek against Hux's shoulder.

"I was reading that," Hux says, more mildly than he'd like, throwing a look over his shoulder. It's harder than it should be to keep the scowl on his face.

It seems like Ben can make out the effort it's taking Hux to stay angry. He nudges him with his cheek, unfazed. "You are far too uptight and boring for someone with such clever opinions."

"Well, it's my clever opinions that are keeping our group in the running," Hux says loftily, face flushing when Ben begins to laugh. He swats at Ben in irritation, but there's too much smoke in the room for him to be at all coordinated.

Ben continues to laugh, which does nothing for the color of Hux's cheeks. "Stop that."

"I can't," Ben gasps, sliding away from the lip of the tub to slump into it more fully. "Look at yourself."

Hux, in response, turns on the faucet.

Cold water shoots out of the shower head and onto Ben, who makes an undignified sound of alarm and sits upright, scrambling to first get out of the way of the spray and second, turn the water off. By that point, Hux has collapsed against the side of the tub and wall, trying not to laugh.

"Look at yourself," Hux returns, and there's a moment of tense stillness: Ben, dripping, hair plastered to his temples, glaring at Hux, who's quaking with pent-up laughter. It could go either way, but then Ben's expression shifts, and they both begin to laugh.

The next morning finds Hux asleep on the floor in Ben's dorm room, splayed on his back on a tattered old rug that barely softens the hardwood. He takes a minute to collect his bearings, staring up at the ceiling where a number of books have been nailed to the plaster by front and back covers, pages fanned out down to the ground. As Hux's mind slowly processes what he's seeing, panic begins to creep in: where is his text book? It will hold little resale value with holes in the binding.

It takes twenty minutes of frantic hunting to find it, and in the process Hux realizes he's the only one left in the room aside from Ben, passed out horizontally on his bed, tangled in the sheets. His book is no longer under the sink but thankfully not nailed to the ceiling, and Hux hugs it to his chest in a brief moment of thanks, before his alarm goes off.

"Fuck," he curses, starting a new search: the hunt for his phone. This is marginally easier, as the thing is howling bells and whistles and basically begging to be found. By the time he does, the volume has increased to the point where the phone shakes with each noise. Hux silences it with an irritated groan.

It's his hourly check-in; he's supposed to be an hour into his ten page term paper and instead, he's fumbling for his shoulder bag and contemplating whether more alcohol would help or hinder his oncoming headache.

"I can't believe you're still asleep," he says to Ben's passed out form.

Ben, for once, says nothing. He is big mouth is wide open. He has one shoe off, the other untied but still on his foot. Hux stares at him for a long moment before taking a photo. After all, if Ben can compromise his work ethic, Hux can absolutely compromise whatever "look" it is he thinks he's going for.

Hux feels no shame stealing a bottle of scotch on his way out the door; this is, at heart, all Ben Solo's fault.

•••

Ben, uncharacteristically, is already in class when Hux arrives the following Monday. Hux sits alongside him, as has become usual. The class size has dwindled considerably during the month of classes, and the remaining students have taken to sitting in their study groups, small clusters in an otherwise large seating chart. It makes it painfully obvious who has been paying attention and who has not; Hux wonders if this is part of Snoke's end game.

"Did you bring back my scotch?" is the first thing Ben says, not an ounce of apology or shame for the wasted weekend, in all interpretations of the word.

"I drank your scotch," Hux replies, flipping open his notebook as he does so. Ben leans over and draws an elongated dick in the corner of the open page. Hux, becoming accustomed to these antics, folds the corner in a small accordion, hiding much of the length. Alongside it, he writes "I belong 2 Ben" and draws an arrow to the now smaller cock. "Do you want the bottle?"

Ben snorts. "Tell me you didn't waste my good scotch on homework and essays."

"I did absolutely," Hux returns, tearing the little illustration from his notebook and stuffing it in his bag to dispose of later. "It explains why my essay on financial spending somehow managed to mention neither finances nor spending."

"Did you turn it in?" Ben looks far too pleased by the idea of it, and not for the first time Hux wonders if the whole point of Ben's attachment to Hux is to watch the slow deterioration of his school ethic. It would not be the least bit surprising. Ben is waiting for an answer, pushing back the tangles of his hair with one hand, so he's able to stare at Hux with both eyes.

"No of course not," he says snappishly, swallowing as he looks away. "I fixed it last night."

"Of course you did. Problem solved."

"No, Ben, that does not _solve_ my problem."

"I'm thinking I don't like the name 'Ben' anymore."

Hux looks at Ben, incredulous. "Really. That's what you have to say."

Ben shifts in his seat, so he's facing Hux more, their knees touching. Hux glances at this with no small amount of unease, knocking his knees opposite Ben. It's only then that he realizes Ben is still talking, and he glances over at his face - too close, too pale. Hux is suddenly distracted by the odd need to count all the beauty marks on Ben's face.

"- and it just seems so normal and boring. Are you even listening to me?"

"What?" Hux shakes his head a few times to clear it, blinking over at Ben after a moment of grounding himself. "Yes, yes of course."

Ben seems satisfied with this. "Anyway, I haven't decided yet. My grandfather changed his name in college too, you know."

Hux is just about to pry further into this when Snoke enters the room, standing at the podium and calling for attention. It's the same routine each time and Hux finds it increasingly stressful. He is waiting for the day that Snoke decides to break the rules, to say "Hi class" instead of "Hello class." He thinks once it happens he'll be able to relax.

***

A week and a half before Halloween, Hux arrives to class to find another teacher in Snoke's place at the podium.

"Professor Snoke is out this week," she explains as the students settle down, perplexed by this development. She's wearing a simple dress suit, a few shades lighter than navy, and her heels are of a sensible height. Hux studies her the way Ben does those around him, when he thinks no one is paying attention to him, like he can see into her mind and know her deepest secrets. Hux is not so clever, it turns out; all he gathers is that she's likely overcompensating and probably isn't actually a professor at all.

Speaking of Ben... Hux glances around briefly before turning in his seat to Mitaka behind him. "Where's Ben?"

"Not here," Mitaka says obviously, half-shrugging. "Maybe he got what the professor got."

"Must be," Hux muses, unconvinced, pulling out his phone to send a quick text to Ben: _why arent you in class???_

Ben doesn't respond to that nor to the ones the texts that follow throughout the day. The Knights group thread is conspicuously silent. He also doesn't show up to class on Wednesday and the evening finds Hux at the door to Ben's dorm room. He knocks three times and then three more when there's no response. He puts his ear to the door and doesn't hear anything. He sends another text: _did you get caught at the library again_ , and when there's no answer, he sends the photo he took of Ben unceremoniously passed out over the weekend, adding: _where are you for Christ's sake_

It's Thursday study session and Hux is seriously contemplating whether it's been enough time to get campus police involved (if they aren't already) when Ben Solo marches his way into Lerner Hall, looking all together like he didn't just spend three days sick or otherwise out of commission. Hux feels suddenly compelled to run up and hug him in the style of all those desperate rom-coms. He quells it by crossing his arms and scowling.

Ben sits at the table as though nothing's happened, as though Hux isn't beside him, glowering furiously. He's wearing the usual all black but he seems tighter somehow, more refined. He also has a bag over his shoulder - a new accessory. Ben has never carried a bag, or books, or even a notebook to their study session; Hux secretly suspects he has an eidetic memory. Looking at him more critically, Hux wonders if he's lost weight from being sick or if it's the sudden interest in hair care, combed and uniformly wavy. Something just feels... different.

Hux lasts all of a minute of silence before he can't stand it anymore.

"Where were you?" he demands, before waving his hand in front of Ben's face when his response isn't immediately forthcoming.

"Guys." Ben cuts in, looking a bit crazed. He's fiddling with a leather cuff around his wrist, black, simple leather; it looks familiar but Hux is sure he hasn't seen it on Ben before. "Did you see the Spectator this morning?"

It's hard to tell if he is willfully ignoring Hux, or just hyper-focused, but either way Hux isn't pleased. "Was there an article about where you've been all week?"

"No," Ben says, looking mildly irritated. He stares at Hux as if he suspects that he already knows and is just being difficult. "They're cancelling fall Bacchanal!"

Bacchanal is a yearly outdoor concert that consumes Columbia; it's typically held in the spring, but over the summer the deans approved a Fall concert as well, themed toward Halloween and with a number of B-list musicians performing throughout the night. It's not Hux's thing; he doesn't go to the spring festival and has no intention of hitting up the fall one either. Had, evidently.

"Are they? I'm glad," Hux says. Ben turns full-body in his chair to stare at him in total bafflement. Hux scowls in irritation. "Well, I am."

"Hux. No." Ben looks around the table at each of them in turn, ending on Hux pointedly. "This is our _opportunity_."

"For what?" Kate seems interested, Thanisson too. Mitaka and Pip not so much. Hux couldn't agree with them more.

"To apply our lessons," Ben says. "Look."

Hux stares, dumbfounded, as Ben reaches into his bag to pull out a copy of the Spectator as well as a notebook. It's not the composition book from the beginning of the semester. It's spiral-bound and brand new, if the corners are anything to judge by. He unfolds the Spectator, pushing the article toward Hux pointedly. Humoring him, Hux begins skimming it.

"We're forming a committee. We're going to join the petition for the deans to re-establish fall Bacchanal while simultaneously planning an off-campus event ourselves."

"We are?" Mitaka looks apprehensive. "I mean, the article brought up some good points -"

"All of which we will address in our outline for approval."

"We'll need more than the five of us," Kate supplies.

"We're the start. Once we get the word out more will come forward."

"The logistics here are potentially disastrous," Pip says carefully. "There's finding an alternate space to host this party, plus hiring out for food and drinks and entertainment. We'd need security. We'd have to charge admission."

Ben flips open his notebook, a list similar to Kaplan's written out on the first page. "About twenty dollars by my calculation. Hux?"

Hux looks up from the paper at the mention of his name. He sees Ben, who looks eager and engaged and actually excited about the possibility of hard work and a group effort. After a moment, he relents. "I see the merits of your idea, but to put it toward Bacchanal is a waste of all our efforts."

"Why?"

"Because it's furthering a party centering around sex and drugs. Professor Snoke isn't going to be impressed by prioritizing hangovers."

"I know that," Ben says, grinning ear to ear. He leans over to cuff Hux on the shoulder. "He's going to be impressed by its success."

Hux suddenly feels exhausted. He sees his schedule, already far too off track, blooming even more absurd, until they're skipping classes in favor of convincing the deans that a night of reckless abandon is totally worthwhile. "I don't know."

"They're squashing our rights as students. Columbia never has huge parties. It's just Bacchanal. If Brown can have Sex Party God and Yale can have Sex Week, we can have Bacchanal." He looks at Hux intensely. "I know we can do it. We just need a proper outline and time in front of the deans. I can get us the latter, but I need your help. Think about it."

"Mitaka is right," Hux says, hating the sentence even as it comes out of his mouth; even Mitaka seems surprised by it. "The article says it was cancelled due to complains about harassment and overdoses. Last spring fifteen students were taken away by ambulance."

"We'll address all of their concerns head on. Look, I already have ideas." He pushes his notebook toward Hux, who picks it up slowly. The handwriting is surprisingly neat, even strokes that are legible and consistent. Hux is impressed.

"RFID wrist bands are a good idea," he says grudgingly.

Ben sits up straight, seeing Hux slowly sink into agreeability and unable to contain his excitement. "So you'll help?"

"I don't know," Hux says again. It's one thing to spend a weekend in a bathtub stoned; it's another to willfully encourage and plan an evening of campus-wide debauchery. There's no way they can control the outcome, the five of them. Alarms are misfiring in Hux's head, they all scream "danger" or "chaos." More dangerous are the thoughts leaning toward success: being able to pull something like this off, a campus-wide party, would certainly put them on the map in Professor Snoke's eyes.

Moreover, Hux can see Ben's thought process here. He's thinking about his grandfather, and Hux's father, and how successful and influential they supposedly were while students on campus here. If they really want to be involved with Snoke's society, they need to take clear initiative. It's just the fact they're choosing a party to do so that's halting Hux's immediate agreement.

Ben's hand on his shoulder startles Hux out of his thought process. He's leaning into him, gripping his shoulder like some kind of lifeline as he stares at Hux, too close and too intent. It distinctly reminds Hux of the night at the library, and he's pretty sure that's Ben's intention, too. Ben doesn't voice that, doesn't need to; instead he says, "It'll be fun."

Hux knows the others are waiting for him to agree or disagree before they cast their opinion, so he doesn't bother looking at them for input. This has narrowed down to him and Ben and somehow, that seems to becoming a lot more common than he'd anticipated.

"Fine," he relents, grabbing Ben's hand before it can become a triumphant fist in the air. He holds it until Ben looks at him, gives him his full attention once more. It's more difficult while Ben's grinning at him. "But we do this my way. No impulsive spray painting marketing or inappropriate entertainment."

"Define inappropriate," Ben says, but his eyes are sparking amusement. "Hux, you and I will be in charge of permissions and securing locations. We'll be the point of contacts. You'll need a name."

"A what? Why do I need a name?"

"To represent our group. Everyone already knows you as Hux." Ben says.

"So?" Hux demands. "I like Hux. Isn't it better that they know it's us, anyway?"

"Thanisson, you'll be scheduler of events and marketing. Kate, you're on hiring entertainment and decor."

"Ben," Hux says, tired.

"Mitaka, alcohol and food. And Pip, you're in charge of security. Let's talk about themes."

"Ben," Hux repeats, irritation growing. " _Ben_."

"Yes?" Ben looks over at Hux, still grinning.

"What about classwork? We're supposed to be discussing influence targets right now."

"Let's discuss it in relation to fall Bacchanal." Ben seems far too pleased by this idea, opening up to a fresh page in his notebook. "What are our influence targets?"

It isn't a terribly bad idea. Even Hux has to admit it. Choosing a focus point for all their discussions to circle around will not only keep the five of them equally engaged, it'll also keep them consistent and grounded. They probably would have done the same thing anyway, with a simulation instead of a plausible reality. Goddamnit.

"Well, the students clearly. It has to be close enough to Bacchanal to entice them but far enough from it to deter intervention from the deans." Pip is speaking now, slowly, thinking as he goes.

"It'll be in the marketing," Hux agrees. "We have to decide if our event is in direct protest to Bacch's cancellation or if it's in spite of it."

"Why?"

"It goes back to influencing styles," Hux answers, getting into it now despite himself. "One is pushing, the other is pulling. We can either advertise we're the Anti-Bacchanal or the alternative to it."

"We could make it more about Halloween than Bacch's posters were about," Mitaka suggests, not quite a question but not quite confident enough for it to be a full-blown suggestion.

"Redirection? That could work," Ben says, writing their ideas down in the same neat hand-writing.

"I think our approach should be indirect," Hux says suddenly, looking over at Ben. "I think if we show too much protest we'll get mis-categorized. We don't want a march to the Low steps. It's just a party."

"But if there's some protest in our marketing it'll make it more appealing to the students," Kate reminds him. "We could use that to gather interest. Otherwise it's just another off-campus party that's charging admission."

"True," Hux says slowly. "Anti-Bacchanal will be an easier sell for students, but it'll be harder to keep from the deans' eyes."

"If it's off-campus, can they do much?" Ben grins at Hux, and it's suddenly clear to Hux how much Ben wants this to be some kind of protest. Talked about for years kind of thing, or maybe worse: the kind of thing that gets shut down and squirreled away in the restricted room.

Hux is not so eager to go down in infamy before he has a degree. He relents. "We'll have to research that. Let's look at the conversation questions: 'How can we cater our influence approach to the different needs and preferences of those around us?'"

•••

Anti-Bacchanal isn't as poor an idea as Hux initially envisioned. With an end goal in sight, one fast approaching, the Knights make quick work of their studies. Their assignments across the board become fodder for planning their off-campus event, workable exercises that prove to be useful as homework as well as in the practical world. Soon, there are multiple outlines for possible outcomes in regard to pre-party prep, party success, and post-party wrap.

Hux and Ben leave the others to take care most of the logistics, leaving the pair of them to take charge of the upper responsibilities, things like securing permissions and meetings. So many meetings.

This leads to a number of nights in Ben's bathroom, because it's the smallest room and easiest to smoke out. Ben says he thinks best in the bathtub and Hux has learned to pick his battles. There is, after all, no longer any mutilation of books.

An outline is developed over the weekend, detailing a schedule of events and a calendar of preparation, all penciled in and subject to what is likely to be considerable change, but it's a successful beginning. It's Sunday evening and Hux has made it into the bathtub with Kylo. They're both sitting with their backs to the porcelain, their legs dangling over the lip, tangled in one another as they overlook a packet of pages for what must be the hundredth time.

"I still don't like the location. We have no guarantee the warehouse is up to code. It could get shut down right in the middle." This is a conversation they've had a few times over the past couple hours alone, and it's one that Hux is still unwilling to let go of.

"It'll be fine. The landlord said he'll have a fire chief inspect it this week for the leasing document. I told Thanisson to be there."

Recently, Ben has taken to calling everyone by their last names. His argument was that two of them already do this - Hux and Mitaka - so it made sense that everyone would follow suit. He seems really stuck on this name issue and Hux is perplexed by it, but there are bigger battles to be focused on and that's what he does. Thanisson, Kaplan, and Unamo have little complaint about it anyway.

"We need a back up. The lawn isn't a back up."

"Hux, stop looking for holes that aren't there. It's going to be fine. We have twenty-five pages that say so." Ben starts to gather the pages, trying to reorganize them into proper order and direction.

Hux makes a grab for the papers. "Stop, I organized them for us to go over!"

"Organized them how? This one is _upside-down_."

"Well, that's unintentional. I put sticky notes on remaining issues to resolve. Green is minimal risk, yellow is concerning and red means we need to address this right now!"

"I didn't realize our party needed a fire damage color coded. How long did this take? Didn't you have a paper this week?"

Hux is prying Ben's fingers off the pages one digit at a time. It is taking far more concentration than it should, for which he blames the smoke in the air and not at all Ben's size and strength. Ben's amusement just infuriates him further. He begins pulling at Ben's wrist, instead. "I did, thank you. It's finished. I was surprisingly more concerned about being responsible for the deaths of half of Columbia's underclass, but that wouldn't concern you, would it? It would surely land us in the restricted category, that's for sure."

"You have a flair for dramatics tonight," Ben observes, mild as he watches Hux struggle with his fingers. "But I appreciate your belief that half the underclass will make it to our party."

"They'll _try_ ," Hux corrects. "It'll be a fire code violation if they all managed to get in at once."

"Did you delete that picture?" Ben asks suddenly.

Hux is slowly getting used to Ben's non sequiturs, though this one is especially irritating. Their violation risks are far more important than a photo. "Which?"

"You know the one. With me asleep."

"I will when we finalize all the red sticky-notes."

Ben shifts in the tub so he's facing Hux a little more clearly. He pulls the papers from Hux's hands and says simply: "I will when you delete the photo."

Hux pulls at the papers but at a certain point, has to stop; he doesn't want them to rip and all because of Kylo's ego. He resumes pulling at each finger in turn and when that doesn't work, starts tugging on Kylo's wrists. "You're being unreasonable."

Ben holds firm. "Off your phone. And the Cloud. And anywhere else."

Pulling at his wrist still, Hux inadvertently tugs at the little leather cuff. It snaps off after a moment and with it goes Ben's calm exterior. With a noise of alarm, he claps a hand over his wrist, releasing Hux's papers and making a clumsy fumble for the leather cuff.

Hux is quicker though; he picks up the cuff and examines it with some suspicion, just out of Ben's reach. It looks like a normal cuff; leather with a trio of snaps down one side, making it easy to put on and off. Both the inside and outside are plain black leather, but on the inside are the initials "K.R." If it wasn't for Ben's panicked gaze as he tries to reclaim it, Hux would have assumed it's just a regular leather cuff.

"What is this? Who is K. R.?"

"I can't tell you yet," Ben says, trying to reach for the cuff with one hand, the other still wrapped around his wrist. Hux holds it just out of reach and Ben narrows his eyes with obvious irritation. "Give it to me."

"No," Hux says. "Explain why it's so important first."

"It's my grandfather's."

"Liar. Your grandfather's name was Vader. I saw it on the photo."

"I can't tell you," Ben repeats.

"Why not?"

"I'll get Thanisson to call about the sprinklers," Ben says.

It's a clear attempt at distracting Hux from questions he can't answer. Hux is having none of it. "This is it, isn't it? This is the Empire Society."

At that, Ben's eyes flash angrily. He frees his wrist in favor of grabbing at Hux's, forcibly wrenching the cuff from Hux's fingers. "It's _not_ the Empire."

"I can't think what else it would be that you couldn't tell me," Hux says accusingly. He waits for Ben to reposition the cuff before he makes a grab for Ben's wrist, pulling it unwillingly toward him.

Ben's wrist is pale from where it's been under the cuff for awhile, like skin under a bandaid. What's most noticeable is the small circular symbol that's _branded_ into his inner wrist, less than an inch in diameter. It looks red and angry like most burns, clearly new and still in the process of healing. The cuff is probably doing little to help that.

Ben yanks his wrist away, snapping the cuff back on with clear anger.

Hux stares at him for a moment, disbelieving. "It was that weekend you were out, wasn't it? Snoke was gone too. He was sick. I should have known. So obvious now."

When Ben continues to say nothing, Hux shoves at his shoulder. "So first you don't tell me. Now you're lying to me?"

"It's _not_ the Empire," Ben repeats, a bit strained as he climbs out of the tub. "I'm not lying."

Hux is more nimble as he climbs to his feet first, stepping out of the tub second. "It's Snoke's group, isn't it? I don't believe you. I thought we were doing all of this —" Hux shakes the papers in front of Ben's face — "for _that_ reason. But it's already happened! How could you not tell me?"

"You need to leave," Ben says, his voice thin.

It's hard for Hux to distinguish why - if he's angry or upset, or maybe a combination of both. Ben's looking past Hux, glaring at the wall behind him and refusing to meet his eyes. He's just standing there, hands at his side in fists, waiting for Hux to leave.

"Fine," Hux snaps, slamming the stack of notes on the bathroom countertop. "I'll just leave these here for _you_ to deal with."

As he packs up his bag to leave, Hux is suddenly struck with the overwhelming relief that he's made multiple copies of those notes. Even if Ben is the so-called "chosen one" of their group, that doesn't mean he's capable of carrying out this party unscathed and be damned if his ineptitude brings Hux down with him.

***

The week passes with minimal sleep. The entire time Hux feels like he's been split in half, one side pulling him full-force into this project of theirs while the other, the more reasonable side, reminds him of his actually important obligations: school, coursework, future planning. He's missed most of his scheduled dinners with Phasma in favor of last minute meetings with entertainment agents, insurance lawyers, the Bacchanal student committee. That last one turns out to be the hardest so far; despite signing off on the party, the students in the committee were displeased by how quickly the Knights were able to lock key requirements in place.

Hux spends most of his afternoon and into the evening placating his classmates; in infuriating contrast, Ben sits through the entire meeting silent and unhelpful. It ends, finally, and Hux quickly ushers himself out, storming off before he gets caught in any kind of informal conversation that might cause him to speak with regret. Currently it's looking like not only will Hux make his dinner with Phasma for once, he will actually be on time, too.

This thought is immediately dashed when a hand grabs his shoulder from behind, Ben catching up with a slightly out of breath, "Hey, wait!"

Shrugging off the hand, Hux tosses a narrow look over his shoulder. "Oh, you. I'm late for dinner."

"We can't give in to the committee's complaints," Ben says, with all the vehemence that, coincidentally, happened to be non-existent the entire afternoon. Hux seethes silently for a moment as Ben continues, doggedly, "They're part of the reason why fall Bacchanal was shut down to begin with."

"I know that, Ben," Hux snaps. There's a spot just above the bridge of Hux's nose that grows especially tight when he feels stressed or over-worked - a paper that's not coming together, a surprise Monday quiz; most recently, Ben Solo's mercurial personality has made the top of that list. Hux pushes at the bridge of his nose with little relief, and his voice sounds marginally less irate. "You were conspicuously silent back there."

"I was assessing."

"Assessing _what_?"

"Them. What it's gonna take to get them to back down."

Hux resigns himself to having this conversation the entire way to dinner, as Ben seems unconcerned about where he's going and if it is at all in the same direction. "Ben. They just want to feel relevant. Since their entire art team is responsible for our marketing and décor, it seems adventitious to let them feel they are."

"But they aren't."

"They aren't." Hux sighs compliance.

Ben is silent for a blessed minute; it doesn't last. "We _have_ to charge admission."

This is an issue that has been discussed nearly every day since the Knights decided to embark on this ridiculous project. More accurately, since Ben decided they were. One of the committee's biggest issues involved admission; the topic took up nearly forty-five minutes of round-about conversation circles. Bacchanal has never been a paid-for event and the committee, fearing protest and lash back, didn't like the idea of attaching admission to a party sharing the title.

"We are," Hux says. He sounds tired and resigned, eager for a nice dinner with Phasma involving a conversation that is literally anything but Bacchanal. Or the Knights. Or Ben specifically. He will take Phasma's lectures over complex proteins over talking about Ben Solo, at this point. Hux does his best to ignore Ben's imploring looks by just not looking at him. It's a lot easier than it might sound; while Ben does have one of those faces you can't help but want to inspect, Hux's thought process is currently overruled by the overarching need to hit the moles off his face, instead.

"Everything is being taken care of," Hux adds, hating Ben's need for reassurance almost as much as he hates his suddenly ability to give it. "Admission is necessary to guarantee everyone gets their proper RFID band. _Your_ idea."

"It's a good idea," Ben says defensively. He stops, and when Hux doesn't bother stopping, calls out: "Hux."

Hux takes a few more steps forward before he pauses. He's angry at Ben. He's angry at him for what happened at the meeting today, and for getting him involved in this shitshow to begin with. He's furious that Ben is part of Snoke's secret society and didn't think Hux could keep a secret. He's especially angry that despite the great deal of him that wants to slap the moles off his face, there's another part of him that doesn't want to do anything to so drastic. That wants to count them. Or press a finger to each one as he counts them off.

Hux steels his resolve as he about faces, scowling. "Are you going to tell me about Snoke or not?"

Ben looks suddenly uncomfortable, an expression unfamiliar to Hux until recently. He actually hedges, scuffing the toe of his boot against the gravel. He takes a couple of steps back and if Hux were in any forgivable mood, he would hear the apology in Ben's voice, the uncharacteristic smallness. "...Not."

There's no room for apology right now. Hux wants to throw his hands in the air in exasperation. He wants to roll his eyes until they fall out of his head. He wants to pick up one of the grounds' statues and chuck it at Ben's self-important head. Instead he sighs and turns back around. "Right. Fine. I'll see you tomorrow."

"It's just a tattoo," Ben persists.

"Sure it is," Hux calls over his shoulder, increasing his pace. Ben wisely does not follow.

***

The day Fall Bacchanal hits, Hux awakens with an ear-splitting headache. It has been steadily growing for the past couple of weeks, but this is an entirely new level, even for him.

Hux refuses to let it interfere with the day's responsibilities. It involves a number of tasks he's actually need for, like signing off deliveries and confirming arrival times with the entertainment's agents, but he doesn't stop there. Hux can't help but micromanage all the small-time problems that seem to always erupt last minute, likely driving everyone around him insane from the force of his anxiety-driven control.

The day is surprisingly lacking Ben.

Much like his week, to be honest.

The micromanaging began after that conversation earlier in the week, when he stormed away from Ben and spent his entire dinner with Phasma alternating between crucifying Ben's need to be mysterious and snapping at Phasma for looking far too amused about the whole situation.

Hux knows that he's somehow allowed Ben Solo to get under his skin; that somehow, for whatever reason, Ben and his misguided ideals, his refusal to conform to any schedule not his own, and his totally egotistical approach toward life, somehow managed to weasel under the carefully constructed exterior Hux spent many many years of his life refining.

So, naturally, when suddenly faced with an entire week not revolving around Ben - the first in over a month, really - Hux reverts to old habits. He micromanages. He over-works. He looks for tasks to take over, homework to re-write and make even better. On Wednesday during an especially weak moment, Hux wrote a five page paper about the topic they discussed in Intermediate Microeconomics that day, totally unprompted.

It's Saturday now, and this godforsaken event is almost over with. Hux has three hours to kill before the sound check and people start arriving. He'd have spent those at the warehouse "supervising" if not for Unamo's sharp request he go home. Take a shower. Come back recharged.

Hux knows when a request is actually a command; he's pretty sure he invented that tone.

Still, thinking of appearances, he trudges back to the dorm. There's little interest in keeping up his personal appearance at the moment, when the odds are high it'll be compromised by some set-up crisis beforehand anyway, but even Hux has to admit he likes the idea of a shower.

There's a note taped on the door to his dorm, above the knob and folded into a small white envelope. On it is his initials, handwritten in cursive. Hux peels the tape of the wood as he unlocks the door, turning the envelope over a few times in his hands as he enters his dorm. He shuts the door slowly, hanging his keys on the cork board by the door and slowly opening the envelope.

The card inside is thick and smooth, a creamy off-white that matches the envelope. It's folded in half, plain on the outside. The inside is simply a row of numbers:

__

40.806952  
-73.962665

"What the…" Hux turns the card over and around, then looks inside the envelope once more; it's just as blank as the front of the card. No clues as to who it's from or what it's about.

Hux knows immediately they're coordinates, and a quick type into Google maps shows it to be the south lawn, a spread of grass and pathways in front of Butler Library. The south lawn isn't really huge, per se, but there is a lot of ground to cover if he doesn't know exactly what he's looking for.

Three hours is barely enough time to refresh himself before ensuring the final prep goes as smoothly as possible. Adding a mysterious detour cuts into that time, but in the end, Hux's curiosity gets the better of him. He showers quick, dresses quicker; the party is Halloween themed and costumes are encouraged, but Hux doesn't have time for anything overboard. He dresses in a sleek black outfit and if anyone asks what his costume is, he'll just say "Security."

Butler isn't too much of a detour from his path to the party's warehouse location, but Hux doesn't know what he's looking for. There's a number of unknown variables here, as well: when was the note taped to his door? was it time-sensitive? did he miss out on whatever it is he's supposed to look for? There's nothing worse to Hux than wasting time; the idea of combing through blades of grass in the dark, looking for an envelope or something, is currently top on his list of "things that waste time."

Still, he makes it to Butler and, standing at the circular fountain that sits where four pathways intersect, he looks around curiously.

The lawn isn't empty. A few students remain on it despite the rapidly dwindling darkness. All of the walk-way lights have been turned on, and a few people sit along the benches. At first glance, nothing looks out of place.

After six minutes, Hux checks his phone. The party starts within the hour, and he's standing in the middle of campus waiting… for what? Hux looks down at the card in his hand once more, and decides it's not worth it. By the time he's made it to a trash barrel to toss the card, he's come up with an elaborate backstory, involving Ben Solo and his infuriating need to keep Hux from doing anything necessary with his time and his life and well, everything. The more obvious solution is, of course, that the note was taped to the wrong door, but as Hux reaches the trash can a voice speaks out from behind him.

"Brendan Hux?"

Hux turns automatically, looking over at the owner of the voice. It's someone he's never seen before, a student by the looks of him, in a dark hoodie zipped up to his neck. "Yes, do I know you?"

"No," the boy says simply, and holds out a small box.

"What is this?" Hux doesn't make any attempt to take the box, studying the boy warily. The boy is silent, motionless, simply staring at Hux with a passive expression, the box remaining outstretched toward him.

This standstill happens for a minute longer before Hux finally takes the box, an unspoken release for the boy, who about faces and walks away without saying anything else. Hux watches him blend into the darkness for a moment before looking down at the box.

It's a small wooden box, plain wood, not too heavy. The box fits neatly in his hands, about the size and dimensions of a gift box for something like a mug, though it's nowhere near heavy enough to be something ceramic. It's hard to see the grain in the dark but Hux's fingers trace over the curled lines of another set of cursive capital letters: his initials, _D.H._

The top opens on a slider, like really well-made cigars, and Hux is half expecting to see one there, the oddly unique smell of expensive tobacco hitting his nostrils. Neither of this happens; instead, the box is nearly empty but for a cheap throw-away flip-phone. It looks completely out of place in the box, and Hux picks it up wonderingly.

When Hux flips the phone open he finds it's on and charged, ready for whatever it is that's happening next. There are no other clues on the phone, however; the background is one of those generic color blends and there are no contacts in the address book, nor is there any text or call history.

Hux holds the phone in one hand and the box in the other and remains like this for a long moment, unsure what the next step is or should be. What has he gotten himself involved in? Is this some long prank to get him to show up to the party late?

In the end it's the buzz of his real phone that stirs him out of his thinking spiral. Holding the box between his forearm and side, he frees a hand to pull it out, opening a text from Mitaka.

__

Should we start handing out assigned RFID bands? ETA?

His phone says there's another thirty minutes before doors open but Mitaka's idea is pretty good. He replies quickly - yes, good idea, omw - and then leaves it at that. There are already enough items in his hand and he has to make it across campus and through the city to the warehouse, preferably before they start allowing the crowd inside. Hux pockets the flip phone and closes the box, carrying it with him as he heads to the party.


End file.
